


the seas be ours and by the powers where we will, we’ll roam

by PolzkaDotz



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: (mild) Angsty with a Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Pirates, Confessions, Drowning, Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean, Kidnapping, M/M, Magical Ships, Mentions of Suicide, Reunions, Temporary Character Death, no beta we die like meh, secondary character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25988557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolzkaDotz/pseuds/PolzkaDotz
Summary: Honestly, Steve didn’t know if he was excited about finally going onboard a ship that would sail with him on it or if he was somewhat disappointed to be dragged onto it by pirates.Even if Bucky had still been around (alive, a part of Steve’s brain whispered to him, and he did his best to squash it into nothingness), Steve doubted his help would’ve been useful. It wasn’t something they would be able to win, and it wasn’t something Bucky could simply swoop in and try to salvage with his charms.The pirates had said who they were looking for. Rogerses, not Barneses.Some pirates are looking for a mysterious compass. Steve knows nothing about it even though they say his father was the one who stole it, but if hedoesknow abouteverythingabout it if that’s what it takes to get the pirates away from his villageandget a free ride on a ship.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	the seas be ours and by the powers where we will, we’ll roam

**Author's Note:**

>   
> Thank you for clicking on this fic! It’s been forever since I’ve come around this bands, but do tell me if there’s anything wrong here or if I forgot to tag something.  
>   
> I did almost no research to write this, which is why there’s not more ship and sailing stuff. Sorry, but I just really wanted to write about Steve pining for his dead best friend and getting into some shenanigans to feel something. Anything!  
>   
> You can blame my wife, Charlotte, for this happening at all lmao  
> 

Honestly, Steve didn’t know if he was excited about finally going onboard a ship that would sail with him on it or if he was somewhat disappointed to be dragged onto it by pirates. 

Now, some people might say he should’ve been scared. Steve had little time to devote towards such a feeling, but he could understand why a normal person would be scared in his situation. Steve was just the sort of person who was born with a low self-preservation drive and a high confrontation drive. On top of that, Steve tried not to let himself be afraid, especially when he was in a situation he would need to keep his cool to get out of, quickly. 

Using his brains instead of brawling, which… was rare. If Steve could throw a punch in a situation where smooth-talking wouldn’t solve the issue he would just do it. However, he had to be honest: it rarely worked out in his favor. Steve knew how to fight, but he was much shorter and had less strength/reach than other people. 

Even if Bucky had still been around ( _alive_ , a part of Steve’s brain whispered to him, and he did his best to squash it into nothingness), Steve doubted his help would’ve been useful. It wasn’t something they would be able to win, and it wasn’t something Bucky could simply swoop in and try to salvage with his charms. 

The pirates had said who they were looking for. _Rogerses,_ not Barneses. 

At least Steve could have told Bucky he volunteered himself for a good cause—a truly good cause. Usually, Steve knew why he should stand in front of other people: to help them when they couldn’t speak for themselves, or to make a target of himself so he could buy some time for the person to get away while Steve was hit and thrown around. 

_Technically_ in that situation, Steve had been helping all the people in their village, _including_ Bucky’s family. The pirates were not mingling around them anymore, but were now shuffling along uproariously up the plank while Steve tried his best to look dejected or hopeless. Mostly what Steve was feeling was the aforementioned dilemma of not knowing exactly what to feel about his current fate. 

Bucky would’ve minded a lot how aloof Steve was feeling about the whole deal. However, Bucky had gotten himself dead at sea three years prior. Steve’s mom had also passed a few months prior. Steve had nothing to keep himself in check and no perspectives. The Barneses made sure to take care of him, but Steve couldn’t help the feeling of being a burden, even though he knew Mrs. Barnes would vehemently protest against that notion. 

It could seem as if Steve had thrown himself into this situation because of a death wish. The truth, however, was that Steve’s soul was a tiny life-boat left bereft in the turbulent ocean that lived inside his mind. The fact that Steve could see his tiny life-boat about to be swept up by a sizable wave of dangerousness was exciting for the first time in a long time for him. 

In the end, it didn’t feel like wishing for death. It felt like finding something to keep him alive. 

Steve stumbled when the pirate behind him pushed him up the gangway. He wasn’t used to the rocking of a ship, even though he had always wanted to be in one and work at it, like his father before him. Steve knew that, at sea, just one single misstep was enough to let him experience no mercy from Lady Ocean. 

The pirate who pushed him did nothing to prevent Steve from going down on the deck, hard. Not that Steve expected it, but he just couldn’t help but think about making a smart ass comment—then he remembered that he wasn’t around the usual idiots of his tiny port village so, for once, he listened to the inner voice that told him to _fucking calm down, Steve; I know you don’t know how to run from a fight, but—_

Steve stopped that voice once again, feeling the anguish that had plagued him for three years for a few seconds and then letting it die alongside its rightful owner. Having ghosts in his brain was fair enough, taking into consideration how many deaths he had to deal with in his life. Having one of those ghosts become his consciousness? Steve didn’t hate himself that much. 

The wood creaked under Steve’s body weight and Steve didn’t know if he should be flattered or worried—it creaked again as he was lying on it without moving and he shifted to definitely worried. Steve didn’t weigh a lot and wood was prone to creaking, but that had been a loud complaint. Too loud for Steve’s weight. 

Steve knew it probably wouldn’t be a great ship before he’d even gotten on board, but now that he looked at it… 

It was undoubtedly not a good ship. 

Yes, Steve knew that most sailors had the philosophy that as long as it could float, it was a good ship. As long as it was sailable, it was a good ship. As long as it could take them to the place Steve’s father had hidden that compass—oh mysterious compass that Steve definitely knew how to find—it was a good ship. 

And these lunatics were about to make it sail during a storm that Steve could almost taste in the back of his throat. 

Steve turned on his back and looked up at the sky. He was used to reading the weather since he was a kid—with the knowledge his mother had gifted him and also what he had gathered by himself because he thought he would need it in the future. 

Steve was proud of his knowledge but still… you didn’t have to be a genius to observe that the ocean was a little too agitated to mean anything other than a big storm coming. The size, color, and general angriness of the clouds that were fast approaching were also a big tell. 

“Looks like it’s going to rain a bit,” Steve said nonchalantly, still on the ground. The pirate who had been pushing him forward seemed to get antsy at Steve’s inaction because he grabbed Steve up by the back of his shirt and used it to hoist Steve roughly back onto his feet. 

The pirate didn’t let him go, though—Steve was roughly pulled closer to the terrible breath that came from the man’s mouth, his upper lip glinting in the moonlight from moistness. 

“You shut up, you little shit, before I take your—” 

“Rumlow!” A man barked, and both Steve and the pirate turned to look at the man approaching them. Steve had known since the village that the older man approaching was definitely important—most likely the captain since he had been the only one addressing the mayor back at their village, even though he hadn’t introduced himself at all. 

The way Rumlow stiffened, though... It was interesting, definitely. 

The man ran his fingers through his own blond hair, slightly too long and much more well-cared-for than anything Steve had ever heard of for a pirate or a man of the sea. He was too well-groomed, even in comparison to the normal working men. He was also charismatic, as he asked the villagers who had been gathered in front of their tiny church to listen as he asked for “any Rogerses alive”. 

Steve, as established, had volunteered himself. Not only was he alive and a Rogers, he also would never let the destruction that had already befallen parts of the village to continue if he could prevent it. Despite the look that Mrs. Barnes gave him, Steve didn’t allow any doubts when he told the pirates that he was the only Rogers alive. 

It was true, although it hurt to say it without being able to properly show his grief. It had only been two months for Sarah, but Steve knew already: grief wasn’t something short-lived. Or publicly shown in a life or death situation. 

After the frankly unhinged smile the blond pirate gave him, Steve had been manhandled closer to the captain and quietly informed that his father stole something from a pirate, years ago, and that this gentleman would very much appreciate it if he could have the compass back. The man also said that nobody else would get hurt if Steve could simply give him the compass as fast as possible. 

“I can’t,” Steve’s mind worked frantically, but all he could come up with was, “It’s buried on an island.” 

It sounded desperate. Sounded like a lie, which… it was, but that also wasn’t good. 

“That’s too bad,” the captain smiled despondently, but it reeked of falseness. “Looks like you don’t want to cooperate.” 

Steve had no other choice than to do his best to reassure the man that he knew the way to the compass inside the island, but he didn’t know the island’s name. His father had pointed it out to Steve on a map, so he knew how to find it again if he was handed a map of their coast. 

Steve was an artist, Steve told him. He had never forgotten what it looked like. 

At the pirate’s long stare, Steve had frantically described an island of average size, with two waterfalls spaced close together at the highest point possible, which made it look like the stones were perpetually crying. 

“I can recognize it on a map if you bring one to me, I swear.” Steve licked his lips and knew that he looked nervous, but hoped it would read as fear for their situation, instead of the blatant lie he was telling. 

That was how Steve had ended up there, having Rumlow’s fingers pried away from his shirt by the captain and released with two pats on his shoulders while the man inserted himself between Rumlow and Steve. After a few seconds, Rumlow hissed in pain, but Steve didn’t want to take his eyes away from the captain to figure out what was being done to him. Steve didn’t particularly care about it, but he did care about moving away as fast as possible from the actual threat. 

The captain just smiled under Steve’s attention. “You will be taken to my cabin. You will wait there until someone brings you the maps we have available.” 

Rumlow hissed again, and then the blond man grabbed Steve’s neck. Steve tried not to tense up too much but it was impossible, especially when the captain pressed his fingers for a few seconds and then loosened it a little—but not completely. “I hope for the sake of your well-being and of your village that you can point out this mythical island. And, if that island isn’t that mythical, that the location of the compass isn’t as well.” 

Steve never had the winning smile that his late best friend had. Even before spending months and months at the sea, Bucky had been a master of being charming. Steve’s heart panged as he tried to mimic Bucky’s expression, trying not to think about him when he couldn’t, just couldn’t and— 

Steve had to buy time for his village. He hoped they would be able to contact someone that could keep the pirates away when they came again and, for that, he needed to seem confident and calm. Bucky had always done that for Steve, but Steve had to make it work himself. 

So Steve smiled and said, “As long as there’s no storm, I can find the island for you.” 

The captain laughed softly. “Why would the storm impede your vision?” 

“Not my vision; my _stomach_. I don’t think I could point out anything if my stomach is as upset as the sea seems to be right now.” 

“Well, then I hope you can find the strength to go back to looking for the island even after being sick. I can’t control the sea but I can very much open a hole in your stomach for you so there’ll be nothing in it to bother you.” 

Steve wanted to roll his eyes, but that would be unwise, so he decided to simply nod. “That sounds reasonable, thank you so much.” 

It only took another smile for Steve’s neck to be released. Unfortunately, Steve’s freedom was short-lived, his neck being grabbed once again by Rumlow—who was much gentler about it and a lot quieter—dragging Steve to what he could only hope was the captain’s cabin. Steve could do nothing but try not to stumble again as Rumlow got less and less careful the farther away they were from the captain. 

The sea didn’t make things easier for him, as it kept rocking at its own enigmatic rhythm. 

Steve was used to not receiving the impossible things he wished for. 

  


* * *

Steve hated that he was proving Bucky right. All those times they got into an argument in their youth about how Steve would actually behave if he stepped onto the deck of a ship as a worker of any kind coming back to loom over Steve. 

But the truth was the calmest, clearest pool of water Steve had ever had the displeasure of looking. There was nothing Steve could do to cloud the vision of the truth rocks on the bottom of it, or even to murk the waters a little. 

And the truth was: Steve didn’t have the stomach to withstand the rocking of the ship above an ocean with a personal, unnamed vendetta. 

He’d say it was a blessing that Bucky wasn’t there to see it, but that thought was too horrifying to entertain. Bucky’s body currently belonged to the sea and, if things didn’t turn around, Steve’s body would follow Bucky’s soon enough—but sooner than that would be the contents of Steve’s stomach joining the waters. 

On the next lurch, Steve’s grip on the chair wasn’t enough and he fell hard on his knees, hissing. Steve tried to grab the chair again but stopped trying when the short, sarcastic chortle arose over the rumpus of the storm. 

Steve turned to look at Rumlow, who had been left in charge of looking after him when the maps were brought to the cabin by two frazzled-looking pirates. Rumlow had been ghost-quiet up until then, content with just staring as Steve tried to look at the maps pinned to the table, but also keep himself from being thrown around the cabin—a quiet that he clearly wasn't interested in maintaining anymore. Rumlow hadn’t struck Steve as someone who knew how to shut up though, so Steve didn't have to say anything to prompt the pirate into speaking his mind. 

“You’re pathetic,” Rumlow said, still chortling. The knuckles of the hand that he used to grip the door frame of the cabin were bone-white, but Rumlow didn’t seem fazed or bothered by it. “How the fuck are you Rogers’ son?” 

Steve might like to know what sort of stories a pirate could tell about his father because Sarah Rogers had never implied that her husband had any kind of fame with the celebrated members of society. Steve's father had sailed for the Queen… _Surely_ he couldn't have been close to any pirates in order to inspire the subdued reverence present in Rumlow's voice? 

Not that it mattered right then if Rumlow had stories about his father. He knew nothing about Steve, who hadn't even mentioned who was his father. Steve had just said he was a Rogers. Sure, he had similar features to his father’s, but Steve had always resembled the delicate bird-structure his mother had. 

However, Steve's priority laid far away from all of that, on the path of annoying little shit and he couldn’t stop himself as he said, in his best condescending tone, “Well, you see, when two people have married in the eyes of God, it’s asked of them to confirm it by—” 

“Shut the fuck up, it wasn’t an actual question.” 

Steve kept his gaze on Rumlow a little longer, trying his best to look judgmental. Steve had loads of experience on that sort of look, put he also paired with a tiny amount of pity. “You don’t look like you get it. Do you even know what sex is?” 

Rumlow made to take a step closer, thoughts clearly overtaken with violent intent, but then someone screamed, loud enough to overcome the sound of the angry sea and the raging storm they had been stuck on after just a little time after sailing, like Steve had predicted silently. 

Rumlow’s expression had turned worried and Steve wanted to taunt him—if Bucky was here, he’d know exactly what Steve was thinking about doing and they would’ve bickered, but...—but he just couldn’t pick up a fight when pirates were screaming outside. If they were screaming, things were probably not good. 

Steve remembered his mom’s stories. Sarah tried to pick something else a few times, a normal fairy tale with its patent happy ending, but it didn’t matter—it never had the same pull, and Steve would beg for something sea-related. 

Growing up, the praises for his dad came from a lot of different people, all agreeing that Joseph Rogers was an incredible sailor who knew how to weather against anything at sea. It was his greatness that took him to the position of Captain, even if he was incredibly young. _Such a shame!,_ they all said to tiny Steve, _his shipwreck was so terrible…_

No one was surprised that Steve had become obsessed with it. 

His mom would humor him. Steve doubted all stories were real, but Sarah Rogers was an incredible storyteller—and Steve was easily amused. Put some heroic acts, some righteousness, and that was enough to satisfy Steve. 

However, Sarah had always included vital pieces of information for Steve, that had worn its course over Steve’s mind: when the sea couldn’t contain itself, overflowing its rebellion, it should be noted that it wasn't simply what the sea itself could hold naturally. The anger also came from rivers and waterfalls, all the ire of whatever body of water that had contributed its share to the ocean's volume. 

The sea was beautiful, exciting, full of adventures—but it was also hungry, waiting for the right moment to unleash its power and eat away the daring ones. The fools. 

Steve sometimes thought his mother had tried to instill that message on him, so he would desire the adventures less, but it only served to make Steve more excited. Eventually, he tainted Bucky with the same desire. At that point though, Sarah had already accepted she had done her best to make sure Steve respected the sea. 

So Steve knew the sea couldn’t suppress all her anger, and that it didn’t operate with the laws of logic, but rather the laws of the starved. As such, the sea was to be respected when her hunger was most evident—when its cold depths could almost boil entire ships into oblivion. 

Monsters and great sea creatures were part of adventure stories, but the real world’s sincerity was the incontestable fact that the sea was a monster by its own merit. To Steve, it was obvious that this crew’s greed would be proven as not even an infinitesimal speckle next to what the ocean’s felt for them. 

Steve was more than honored to offer the sea a perfect chance for a meal. Even if it came with the cost of his own life and the eternal mystery of his father's connection to an elusive pirate’s compass. 

It still didn’t feel like a death wish, though he accepted the chance of death. 

The ship gave another sudden lurch and Steve shook off his distracted thoughts as he almost hit his head on the wooden floor. Steve had to stretch a little, but he was able to tighten his grip on the leg of the chair, grateful that it was bolted into the old ship. He looked up at the snort that Rumlow gave, but before either of them could say anything, they both heard the sounds of steps running towards them. 

“Captain told you to go up,” the arriving pirate said without even bothering with catching his breath. “We just lost Big Henry overboard.” 

Well. That explained the scream. 

“What about him?” 

They both turned to look at Steve, who probably looked green around the edges while he tried not to be thrown around the cabin. Steve tried his best to look even more pitiful, so they would leave him alone. 

“He’s not going anywhere if he wants to live.” 

It took maybe a couple of seconds for both of them to leave, running. Steve wanted to get up and go after them, just to taunt. “If he wants to live?” Steve wanted to laugh. Even if Steve did give them the fucking compass, Steve knew what they were planning. Steve had come on this ready to best them at wits, but now Steve would have to rely on a lot of luck to win over the ocean. 

Steve thought about getting up and making his way back out, so he could throw himself off the ship, and leave his body at the mercy of the sea. It wasn’t about _dying_ , but simply a way out. 

Even, better, the fact that the pirates would have been thrown in this storm for nothing? They had been desperate for the compass, enough to face this storm as quickly as possible. To make them lose everything… Steve really wanted to get up and find his way out. His stomach was quick to remind him that getting up was a terrible idea, so Steve did his best to control it as he thought about what he could do right then. 

Steve didn’t have time to consider for too long, or to even control his lurching stomach. He heard a loud noise of wood snapping. Steve froze, still holding onto the chair desperately, but to no avail, apparently; there were many people trying to scream louder than nature, but then— 

Water. Water everywhere, louder than anything Steve had ever heard, coming towards everything and filling his world with saltwater and, eventually, his insides as well, so overwhelmingly cold but also burning. 

Also, _quick._

_Oh no, we’re sinking. This is so sad,_ Steve had time to think as sarcastically as he was able. He couldn’t even pretend he was trying to survive. There was no swimming against all that force, though. There was no air to breathe, only water. Soon, but not as soon as Steve thought it would be, his vision went black and Steve for once in his life didn’t fight at all. 

* * *

Waking up again made Steve remember how it felt like when he’d beaten any of his prior ailments: something that vaguely felt like it should be celebrated but, overall, Steve still felt too much like shit to really process it. 

He only needed to remember that he’d been in a sinking ship who-knew-how-long-ago to try his best to sit upright. Steve was shivering uncontrollably and still _felt_ soaked to the bones although he was bone-dry, wheezing as he remembered how much water he had breathed—but then, the panic drew back a little and? Steve _felt_ … fine? 

Looking down, Stevesaw that not only was he using unfamiliar clothes, he was lying on top of a dry blanket and had a second one covering his entire self, now lying peacefully only on his legs. Someone had not only gotten Steve out of his wet clothes, but also _dried him_ and made sure that Steve would have something to warm himself up? 

Not that that would have saved Steve from a cold, obviously. If Steve survived whatever was happening now, he knew he would get a cold by the way he couldn’t control his shivers, even after begrudgingly pulling the blanket closer to his body, which... wasn’t ideal, obviously, but it was better than dying at sea or at the hand of pirates, maybe? 

Steve had no concept of what a good death was anymore. 

Instead of wasting his time asking himself useless things, Steve could just get up to figure out what the fuck was happening. 

Steve looked from side to side, but it was too dark to see, and he couldn’t hear anything other than the sound of the grumbling ocean—still a bit too agitated for comfort, but much calmer than before. At _least_ the storm seemed to be over. 

Steve wished he had some sort of light-source. Either the sky was still dark or Steve had been left in a place with no windows just from how _dark_ it was. Steve probably didn’t lose too much time being unconscious if it was the former, but there was no way for him to know for sure unless he got out of there. 

With a sigh, he arose carefully, not trusting how _well_ his body was behaving. He had drunk _a lot_ of water. Why wasn’t he feeling worse? 

Steve wrapped himself in the blanket just in case. The other blanket under his feet felt nicely warm from his body heat but as soon as Steve stepped away from it, the surface felt wrong on his bare feet and he pulled it back, frowning down. It took an embarrassingly long time for Steve to realize what was wrong, but after a while, he realized that the surface was _incredibly_ cold. It wasn’t what Steve expected wood to feel like on bare feet, even after a storm. Steve tried to look hard at it, but he couldn’t make sense of it until he kneeled down and felt the coldness of metal. 

It wasn’t smooth metal—slightly textured, actually, enough that his hands could pick up the imperfections were _intentional_ —but it was metal. Steve looked up, trying to see if anything would glint, but there was nothing to see yet. Steve’s eyes hadn’t adjusted to let him make sense of the faint shapes he could see, but… 

He really wanted to see. Steve had never heard of a completely metal ship—which made him contemplate if maybe he _wasn’t_ on a ship anymore, but it felt silly when he could still feel the rocking of the ship. 

It felt crazy to even think that anything metallic could float, but he could hear the sea and he doubted they were docked. Steve drew the blanket closer to his body and looked from left to right, trying to decide which path he would try to take. 

What he didn’t expect was to _finally see_ a glint as low as he was when he turned his head. Steve’s heart went up to his throat as he looked back in the glint’s direction, frozen—until he blinked _at the same time_ that the pair of eyes that were staring at him blinked. 

Steve tensed up and was ready to demand that the person identify themselves, but then they moved to stand up and Steve just did his best to track it by widening his own eyes even more—which didn’t help. 

Then there was a tiny light source, faint but still enough to make Steve squint so it wouldn’t ruin what little vision he had for too long. Even weirder, the person was holding whatever was clearly emitting light on a _tight fist_ , which was… confusing, but at least Steve could sort of see now? 

Well, see enough to know that the person couldn’t be taller than Steve, young face becoming a bit clearer as they approached the light source to their face and then they stepped forward. The closer they got to Steve, the more details Steve could make out of them—the dark hair that didn’t look brown, but Steve couldn’t be sure, the pale skin that contrasted harshly against the dark hair, the androgynous features that left Steve without knowing if it was a boy or a girl. 

“Come,” they whispered, voice almost too soft to be understood. 

Steve frowned. “Where?” 

“Come,” the person repeated and started to walk. 

Steve hesitated for only a second, but then followed as carefully as he could. He had to drag his naked feet on the cold metal that soon enough became wet cold metal. It didn’t take a long time for the person to realize that not only was Steve slipping quite a lot; he was also walking much slower because he kept bumping into stuff. They didn’t offer a hand to help Steve, but they slowed down so Steve wouldn’t lose them, which was a kindness that Steve was grateful for. 

Steve wished he had also received the kindness of a pair of shoes, or even socks for the illusion that his feet were protected, but there was nothing of the sort. He thought fondly upon the pair of shoes he had been using—the only pair he had left—but the ocean had probably dragged it away when he drowned. 

Still, Steve yearned for some protection. He was about to ask the person about maybe borrowing something (Who knew, they might be _that_ generous?) but then he heard it. 

Voices. 

Steve almost stumbled when he realized that the murmurs he’d heard and attributed to the ocean were actually voices—too soft to be discernible with the overwhelming background sound. The person he’d been following turned a corner and the light source disappeared completely, so Steve hurried over and was forced to come to a halt; not only could he see, the faint moonlight was much stronger than what he had been offering and making everything feel slightly painful to focus on. When he could at least _squint_ at the ground, Steve frowned when he noticed the moonlight did not affect the dark corridor Steve had come out of… 

… But, most importantly, Steve could see all the pirates that had been on the ship with them. And indeed _all the pirates_ Steve remembered seeing. Steve hadn’t counted them, but he remembered faces. All the faces he’s seen were there. Which wasn’t possible, because hadn’t they lost someone to the sea? 

Steve frowned harder as he looked at the person he’d been following. They were not that far away, arms crossed as they looked over at the pirates with no visible emotion. Steve was about to approach them when something glinted in the corner of his eyes, and Steve flinched because it was _close_ to him. Too close, he might say. 

Steve tensed up as he looked back and instantly regretted since the light behind him was much brighter than any source Steve had ever seen at night, much brighter than what he had been following _and_ the moonlight, but when he turned his gaze to the face that accompanied the body holding the light source, he saw— 

Bucky? 

Steve was a statue—except for the tiny things. His mouth fell open, slack, and he blinked as he tried to make sense of the familiar face. It was still the same pair of blue eyes he’d known for his entire life, the dark long hair that wasn’t really familiar because of its length, but still the same chestnut color of the short mess that Bucky had always sported. Then Steve’s eyes adjusted to the light and... was that a metal arm? 

Also, Bucky was _alive_? 

Bucky looked back at Steve with a serious expression on his face. That was something that Steve had seen before. Rarely, but sometimes. However, the intensity of that look was something Steve had _never_ experienced. 

Even when he’d been lying in what many believed would finally be his deathbed, Bucky had never looked at him with such seriousness. It felt wrong, to be able to see his friend’s face without the easiness he’d been known for, the smiles. The smirks. It filled Steve with even more eeriness to the already unsettling situation. 

Then the intensity changed to something charged that Steve could recognize, actually. Something that Steve had tried to forget in the years since he had experienced it, because it wasn’t the sort of memories he liked to favor. The loss of opportunities hurt even worse than the actual loss of his friend, and wasn’t that _despicable_ of Steve? 

Still, that intensity _had_ been a part of them. It had poured over their friendship for years—stronger after puberty—how drawn to each other they were. How their skin was hungry for each other, in ways that felt too overwhelming for young Steve and that he could _never_ make peace with. It was too wild and unpredictable to _suppress_ fully. 

When Steve had learned about Bucky’s death, it was this that he thought about first and, consequently, the thing he regretted the most. Not having the gall to do anything to get answers for what they could have been for each other and having to come to terms with the fact that he never would... Mourning more than just the loss of a friend... 

Being stabbed over again and again as he saw Bucky smiling from the many drawings Steve had made of him; an eternal temptation overlaid with _mockery_. 

The thing that had made Steve feel so _alive_ for so long was suddenly responsible to make Steve _feel_ death flooding his heart, in all the ways that wouldn’t kill him. 

Steve had forgotten what looking at Bucky’s face felt like. Had made himself forget it since it hurt too much. Having it back felt like enough to forget anything as flimsy as logic and just trust in their look. 

Then Bucky was turning his gaze towards the pirates and walking in front of Steve. Hiding him from view, as if that was enough to protect Steve. 

The pirates took one look at Bucky and visibly trembled. Not all of them, but… many. Enough. Steve wanted to ask what the fuck was happening but Bucky walked—no, _strutted_ , that business sort of walk he had that now _obviously_ skewed to one side—the _metal arm_ side, which still felt _unbelievable—_ towards the first pirate on the line. 

Bucky didn’t even need to say anything to get a reaction, although a confusing one. “I refuse”, the pirate almost screamed at Bucky, shaking hard. Bucky didn’t seem phased, from how relaxed his posture still was to his tone of voice. 

“You know the way out,” was Bucky’s reply, and then… they watched. They just watched as the pirate walked on shaky legs towards the edge of the ship and then— 

Jumped. 

Steve drew a breath and took a step forward, intent on doing _something_ , anything. The person who had guided him was suddenly at his side, shaking their head at him. From so close and with whatever Bucky was using to cast a light so strong, Steve could see that their hair was wine-red. Their features were still androgynous but, honestly, Steve couldn’t care less about them. Someone had just _jumped off the ship_ , and no one was doing anything. Steve wanted to step forward and question the shit out of Bucky, but had to frown at the hand that held his wrist in an unshakable grip, looking up to see his guide shaking their head again more vehemently. 

“It’s their choice,” the person said. 

“What, killing themselves?” Steve let out a short laugh, bitterness stinging at his eye because his friend had just allowed someone to jump off of a ship in the middle of the ocean, and Steve was reading himself to say that and more— 

“He’s already dead,” the person said, voice even softer than usual. Steve had to think about it for a second, because he couldn’t have possibly heard it correctly, then the person kept going, saying, “We all are.” 

* * *

Steve loved everything related to the sea. His mom had helped him with growing his knowledge from a young age, but she wasn’t the only reference he had. People had always talked to him about his father and everything about it had always been… grandiose. How could he not fall in love with it when everyone in his life made it sound like the best place to live and work on Earth? 

With that in mind, of course Steve had heard about ghost ships and supernatural creatures—and those would either roam the seas and destroy ships or work in magical ships as well. 

Steve never really believed those stories. How could he? Those stories claimed that gigantic creatures attacked some ships, and no survivors were found—so how did those stories exist in the first place? Some stories would say that some ships sank but could still be sighted throughout the years in specific situations, certain times, sometimes being controlled by nothing… 

Or, of course, being controlled by monsters. Sometimes, by a fleet of the undead. Stories that were meant to be scary, or to entertain, or to instill the fear in men of faith. It was nothing more than that. Stuff that sane people wouldn’t really entertain or, at least, shouldn’t. 

Steve didn’t _need_ the supernatural in his stories. The sea itself and the people in it were monstrous enough. 

However, one thing that Steve had learned throughout the years was that you needed to have a certain frame of mind to _choose_ to work on a ship. Steve had met no one that looked or talked as if they were in complete control of their faculties and was a man of the sea for years on end. 

When Bucky had left to become a sailor, Steve couldn’t say it surprised him. They had grown up together, Bucky was responsible for at least half of their worst ideas, so Steve _knew_ him. Had given Bucky his interest in the sea, something Bucky _himself_ had admitted. So Steve knew that, as much as Steve loved the sea and the stories they could hear about it, _both_ of them wanted to live something like the stories they heard, from Sarah or from sailors. 

Preferably together, despite Steve’s health issues. 

One thing particular about Bucky was that he was perfect to be a sailor if one of the requirements was to have a lot of superstitions. To Steve’s endless exasperation, Bucky believed in those supernatural stories much more seriously than Steve thought he should. It didn’t matter what plausible explanation Steve could come up with to try to convince Bucky _not_ to. 

“It’s just good to be cautious of everything,” Bucky would tell him, shaking his head. “Especially the unknown, Steve. We can’t say for sure that those stories are fake.” 

“So I am supposed to just... believe in all absurd things?” 

“Maybe not believe in them, but... you should at least try not to forget about them,” Bucky’s smile would be forever branded into Steve’s mind. “It doesn’t hurt to be fearful. Makes us cautious, you know?” 

Then Steve would receive a not-so-subtle glare, which was hypocritical of Bucky since Steve had plenty of examples from times when Bucky himself had thrown caution to the winds, but they would always just change the subject. 

Their willingness to put some stuff aside—Steve’s poor health and sharp tongue, Bucky’s credulity and the village’s women who followed him everywhere, old and young—was what kept them together through their lives. It was just who they were; Steve the Cynic and Bucky the Believer of the Supernatural. They balanced each other out, in a way. 

Steve should’ve known though that even in death, Bucky could always prove Steve wrong. Even if it was stuff Steve was certain was impossible to become true, Bucky could attract them to himself, just to spite Steve or something. Didn’t matter that Bucky had always been the type of person who would try to keep a careful, respectful distance from chaos. Chaos would find Bucky. 

Just like Steve had—when Bucky had been alive and also now, allegedly, in death. And at least Fate hadn’t made Steve suffer too much from his cynicism if Bucky had been given back to him. 

The circumstances weren’t… ideal, however. 

Steve stood, silent and stoic, as one by one the pirates accepted or refused whatever it had been that Bucky asked of them. Steve wasn’t a pirate, so he was losing what felt like important context to what was happening but, from what he had bothered to keep from those stories, there was always something to be exchanged. If Bucky was giving them the opportunity to go back to the sea, it would be logical to assume that they were being given the option to either stay in the ship or to voluntarily throw themselves back into the water. 

It was possible, from what Steve’s memory was able to remember from those stories. 

The pirates looked cold since they were still visibly wet; clearly, not everyone received the same treatment as Steve, who didn’t really know what to make of all of it. On one hand, they were pirates who had kidnapped him for some flimsy access to a compass, and they were desperate enough to have it if they just… took someone who claimed to know how to find it. 

On the other hand, they were still humans. Terrible humans, but... it made the people in Steve’s brain clash since the Bucky Steve knew for his entire life would never mistreat a human like that, even if they were despicable. 

But then again, these humans were dead. They would either get the chance of getting rid of their wet clothes after they were done there or… well. 

Bucky was probably dead as well. 

Also... Steve? 

It felt unreal, even though nobody else seemed to be questioning things as much as Steve was doing internally. Again, it was very clear that Steve was missing a lot of contexts that everyone else seemed to naturally have. However, Steve knew he didn’t have time to waste on thinking too hard about death at that particular moment, truth be told. 

Steve went back to paying attention to Bucky and the pirates when Bucky arrived at the end of the line. Only four of the original twenty or so pirates choose to stay, shivering harder as Bucky stared them down. The last one was the captain, who seemed to be arguing that he could stay if Bucky would allow someone older and more suitable to be a captain. 

“If you want to try to be captained, the ship will let you know tomorrow when you wake up,” Bucky answered the captain, who smiled graciously and agreed. Steve raised one eyebrow and filed that information for later, even though what he _really_ wanted to do was protest. He wanted to warn Bucky that he really didn’t think it was a good idea to keep any of them on the ship at all, but Bucky didn’t seem worried. At all. 

Did that mean there was something Bucky knew that the pirates didn’t? Or that they _all_ knew and Steve didn’t? 

That was more likely. 

Steve hoped Bucky would explain things, soon. 

“Natasha,” Bucky said loudly, or at least it felt loud for Steve who had let himself drift a little. “Take them down.” 

The red-headed person—Natasha, apparently—nodded at Bucky and gave Steve one last empty look before motioning the pirates over. They all hesitated as they looked at their captain but Bucky barked, “Follow her!” in the most menacing voice Steve had ever heard from him, and all the pirates scrambled to obey him—even the captain, although he did stop to measure Bucky with a calculating gaze for a few beats of silence. 

Bucky gazed back at him for a fleeting second, before going back to staring at Steve intently. 

That, however, was enough to call the captain’s attention to Steve as well. The pirates all passed in front of Steve to follow Natasha, but the captain almost lingered, his gaze fixed on the blanket Steve had thrown around him, keeping him warm. 

Steve didn’t know what his look meant fully, other than barely concealed envy, but Steve absolutely didn’t like the idea of him possibly roaming around free in the same ship that Steve would live in. 

Maybe live in? Steve had lots of uncertainties at that specific moment. 

As soon as they were gone, Steve huddled inside the blanket even harder, listening to their echoing steps getting fainter and fainter. A clearing of the throat called his attention back to Bucky, who had come close while Steve was distracted. 

Steve had to squint to see him, which prompted Bucky to quickly move the strong light he was still holding to his back, the edges of his body being highlighted as he protected Steve’s eyes with the mass of his body. 

Had Bucky gotten more muscular? As if it wasn’t enough to be as fit as he had always been? Steve wanted to say that that was a personal attack, but he was too busy trying not to appear overwhelmed by his dead best friend being there, in front of him. Different, but still alive. 

The light was enough for Steve to watch Bucky’s face, count all the differences it had from his memories. There was no space for an amiable smile on his lips anymore, at least not at that moment as he scrutinized Steve. Bucky’s long hair was also jarring to see because Steve could’ve never envisioned how _well_ it would fit Bucky, but no amount of gawking at how that dark hair soften the hard angles of Bucky’s face would make him oblivious to the obvious tiredness around Bucky’s eyes. 

It was an uncanny version of Steve’s best friend. Still, all Steve wanted to do was run his fingers through all that made Bucky different. Get acquainted with it. Steve felt something close to an itch in his hand, and he had to ground his nails into his palms to keep himself in check. 

He had always had a hard time keeping his hungry hands from quietly nibbling at Bucky’s… everything, but now? After months of separation? His hands wanted a feast. 

Bucky smiled at him, a tiny impossible thing, but it wasn’t enough to soothe Steve. He couldn’t stop staring at the arm, artist’s eyes noticing the lack of bulkiness from an armor, how symmetrical when compared to Bucky’s other arm, and Steve knew his hopes were in vain. Somehow, that was Bucky’s arms. 

Steve was still hungrier than ever, even for this alternative version of his friend. 

It was comforting to know that he would always desire Bucky, no matter how different he got. And, at least at that moment, Steve didn’t have to worry about being consumed by grief as he thought about it. 

Bucky gave him a few more moments of silence before speaking in a low voice. “I’ve been waiting for you.” 

Steve frowned. Taking into consideration how they all seemed to know about the “dead” situation, Steve felt like he had to ask. “You’ve been waiting for me to die at sea?” 

“Well… not really,” Bucky amended, then frowned. “But I know you. Eventually, you would find someone willing to take you on their crew. I just didn’t expect it to be…” 

“Pirates?” Steve scoffed. “Let’s just say it wasn’t exactly consensual.” 

Bucky, intrigued, clearly wanted to ask more. It looked a little different from the way Steve had seen Bucky being curious before but he was allegedly dead, so it made sense. Steve just felt relieved he could still read his best friend, even if it was this… apparently dead version of him. 

Steve could read that Bucky didn’t simply want to ask about Steve’s life and what had brought him to the sea just by the way Bucky kept crossing and uncrossing his fingers, the whirring of his metal ones soft but audible. Steve knew that Bucky wanted to ask about everything—and Steve didn’t blame him. Truth be told, Steve also wanted to ask a lot. Their hunger had long ago proven to be mutual, best satiated with knowing as much about the other as it was possible. However, Steve doubted that Bucky had any way to get news from his family as well. 

Shit, Bucky probably hadn’t even heard that Steve’s mom had passed. 

Natasha appeared in the doorway of the corridor though, and Bucky was suddenly all business again. 

“Did anyone cause any problem?” Bucky asked and seemed satisfied with Natasha’s head shake. “Good. You are dismissed, Natasha.” 

Natasha hesitated as she wasted a single long look towards Steve, but then she disappeared again. Steve turned to look back to Bucky, one single eyebrow raised in the place of a spoken question. 

“Come with me,” Bucky said instead of explaining anything, and Steve followed him, and Steve knew he was being taken to the place where he had woken up. Unlike Natasha, when Bucky noticed that Steve was slipping all over the wet metal floor, Bucky extended a hand towards Steve—the metal one. It was an effortless gesture that spoke of how used Bucky was to the hand, and then Bucky balked, probably because he had noticed Steve’s tiny hesitation. 

Fearing that Bucky would draw his hand back, fearing that it would be interpreted as a _rejection_ instead of just surprise over how natural it was for Bucky to use it, Steve grabbed the hand in both of his own hands, feeling like a kid clinging to a parent’s hand—but it was enough that it made Bucky smile the new tiny smile again as they walked hand in hand inside the captain’s cabin. 

* * *

The cabin was incredibly similar to Bucky’s room even though it didn’t have the same furniture. 

It helped that it was hotter than it had been outside, which helped to make it seem like Bucky’s room. Bucky had _always_ hated the cold. In this cabin, with the door close and with the light Bucky had with him, deposited in the nightstand near his bed—which Steve thought was a bad idea until the ship swayed and the lamp thing didn’t move at all—the bedroom felt _warm_. Cozy. 

Steve was being warmed much quicker than the blanket had been able to. Steve’s body almost couldn’t deal with the change in temperature, but at least his toes were glad, even though Steve’s greedy soles rubbed against them and his own ankles, trying to warm them up a little as well. 

Bucky saw that and went straight towards the chest at the end of his bed. Steve only watched as he opened it and retrieved a pair of thick wool socks that he threw over to Steve in an arch, giving him enough time to let one of his hands free from the blanket and not even fumble to catch it. It was how they had grown up handing stuff to each other but Steve couldn’t help but _grin_ at the familiarity of it. Three years were not enough to kill that, and the smile he got from Bucky rekindled his heart with a familiar longing once again. 

It made Steve’s chest ache a little, but he got over it as he sat down on the ground to put the socks on. Bucky sighed and Steve knew that he would say, “There’s a bed to sit on right there,” but Steve had more pressing things to talk about. 

“Am I going to have to make some choice as well?” 

Bucky’s expression went serious in a millisecond. After a moment of silence, he nodded and sighed again. “You are dead, so I can only offer two things to you: you either become part of the crew or you stay dead.” 

“And if I choose the second one, I must jump to my death.” 

Bucky shook his head. “Not exactly to your death, since you’re already dead. It’s simply… the moment your feet stopped touching the ship, you wouldn’t feel anything anymore.” 

“Is that all I will give up if I join the crew?” 

Bucky’s smile was sad. “Well, to become part of the crew, you’ll turn into something that the ship needs. Which means you could become a weapon or a useful object. We can never go on land, so you’ll also lose anyone you left behind. Your mom—” 

“Is dead,” Steve cut him off as gently as he could. Steve just didn’t beat around the bushes, even though the way Bucky looked grief stricken over the news made Steve want to be someone different just for that moment. When Bucky’s expression turned afraid, Steve was quick to reassure him. “Your family was well and healthy when I left the village. Your mom even glared at me for going with the pirates. I swear to you nobody else other than my mom died since...” 

Bucky looked partially relieved and partially guilty as Steve bit his own tongue so he wouldn’t finish what he had started. After a few seconds of absorbing it, Bucky went back to business. “Those are the basic things. You might also give up your immortal soul, but unless something has changed in the last three years…” 

“I still don’t think too much about my immortal anything,” Steve said, and Bucky nodded because he knew Steve. Steve _was_ a believer, but the whole narrative of the circles of Hell were not something he _ever_ worried about. It was nice to see that Bucky still _got him_ , but it also made Steve have to clutch at the blanket hard so he wouldn’t grab Bucky and pull him as close as he— “Is it painful?” 

Bucky eyes’ softened. “It’s not supposed to be.” 

Steve nodded and thought about it. Not about the bad outcomes of it, but just… Everything in him had always yearned to be at sea. Now here he was; Steve had an outlandish chance to live and maybe star in the kind of stories he loved, with the bestest friend he had ever had, or he could be dead and not experience the life he’d always wanted. 

He could be dead and without Bucky once more. 

It wasn’t a tough decision at all, but Steve had to know something before he gave his answer. “Why did you do it?” 

“I didn’t want to die yet,” Bucky said in a whisper, eyes very far away. Steve remembered what the letter had told Mrs. Barnes about Bucky’s death. A tragic, violent accident of his ship. ‘No members found alive or whole’. Steve looked at Bucky’s metal arm and frowned. He would ask what had actually happened later. “I also…” 

Bucky looked at Steve in silence for a few seconds and then looked away, sheepishly. Bucky had never really been one to blush easily, but Steve knew when he was feeling self-conscious or even embarrassed. He waited, but when Bucky didn’t complete his sentence, Steve got a little impatient. “What?” 

“Well,” Bucky still kept his gaze decidedly away for a few seconds and then he glanced at Steve, full-on grinning. “I really had been waiting for you, you know? And even if you’ve never come, if God never allowed us to meet again in this life, I hoped I would at least have some stories to tell you when we met again.” 

Steve couldn’t help but smile at Bucky fondly. Bucky cared about _his own_ immortal soul a great deal but he still gambled it away on his desire to see Steve once again, using the flimsiest excuse ever. That was the kind of backward logic _Steve_ was guilty of, and to see Bucky doing it… Steve couldn’t stop his grin. And be grateful that he had instilled his way of thinking onto Bucky, otherwise they wouldn’t be _here_. Face to face. 

Steve’s heart had been stuck on a storm over the last twenty minutes. 

“Well... do you?” asked Steve. 

“Do I what?” 

“Have some stories to tell.” 

Bucky, for the first time, looked exactly like the person Steve had grown up with—charming smirk, lazy posture, the full course for Steve’s eyes to feast upon. Steve never wanted to look away from him again. 

“A couple,” Bucky said, and his grin got a bit bigger as Steve smiled back at him. 

“Well, then I guess I have to stay then,” Steve said and Bucky immediately stopped smiling. 

“Steve, at least think about it a lit—” 

“Do I have a lot of time to think it over?” Steve challenged him and felt cocky because of the way Bucky frowned. “Besides, this is what I’ve always wanted but never thought I’d get.” 

Steve didn’t specify, and the look Bucky gave him was enough to tell him they were on the same page. 

“What if you become a fork?” Bucky still insisted after their staring contest. 

“Then you better believe I’m a sentient fork or something like that and not skimp on the stories.” Steve tried to look angry but Bucky’s exasperated face told him he wasn’t fooling anyone. “I will still want to hear all of them.” 

“Steve…” 

“Bucky,” Steve said, in a serious voice. “This is my dream. I don’t need to think this over. Also, I have you again. Everything else will be fine.” 

They stared at one another for a little while and Steve couldn’t help but smirk, even though it felt like it should hurt, at least a little. He had been without the heavyweight of Bucky’s gaze on him for a while now, and it seemed much more charged than it ever had been. Steve wanted to tease, but they would probably have time for it. Right at that moment, Steve missed his friend more than he missed… whatever they could be, if Steve dared. “Will I get any warning?” 

“Not really. It happens when it happens, as long as sunrise has already come.” 

“Well…” Steve got up from the floor and approached Bucky on the bed, carefully sprawling by his side, basking onto Bucky’s slow gaze up his body. “Didn’t you say you have some stories to tell me? Looks like my schedule just cleared up.” 

* * *

They spent the entire night talking—or rather, Bucky talked a lot and Steve interrupted him with questions. To be fair, they had been apart for three years and a lot of months, since Bucky had been at sea for sometime before the accident happened. 

Which, Steve got a vague answer about a Kraken and—he would make Bucky elaborate more on that later, in detail, so Steve could draw it or something. 

Bucky told him stories involving magical creatures, other pirates and _magical ships_ , but his last story involved an artist that had been part of Bucky’s crew until he grew tired of being here. Bucky said that was common, but just the way Bucky talked about the artist and how he thought Steve would’ve gotten along with him was enough to fill Steve with a vague sense of shame for the amount of years since he’d picked up his charcoal to draw _anything_. 

Well… what Bucky didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. Steve kept his mouth shut as he listened to the solemn way Bucky talked about the dead artist—and also some of the crew that Steve probably would meet up the next day. 

If he was still sentient, of course. 

It took a few hours of talking for Bucky to sit up abruptly, which was obviously enough to make Steve almost jump in his haste to react quickly to whatever spooked Bucky. Steve looked from one side to the other in the cabin, but there was nothing. Had Bucky seen something he hadn’t— 

“Why were you on a pirate ship?” Bucky’s voice had the intensity of a thousand suns and Steve knew what it meant, so he just groaned as he threw himself back onto Bucky’s bed, groaning. 

“It’s not what it looks like, I promise.” 

“Oh, so it’s not that you couldn’t find a ship that would take you, and then you found some pirates and decided that was close enough?” 

“I have standards!” Steve didn’t bother to move to glare at Bucky. “You know me better than that.” 

“I do,” Bucky agreed, but then he closed the distance between them to hiss at Steve’s face. “Which brings me back to my point: what were you doing with pirates?” 

“As I said before, it wasn’t consensual.” Steve sat up, frankly tired of Bucky looming over him with an angry frown on his face. Bucky didn’t move back, but Steve didn’t care for how close they were. However, it was a little of an unfortunate situation for Steve, who wanted to frown back but was elated to be frowned upon by Bucky Barnes. 

Steve had his best friend to berate him for his bad decisions. A best friend who had been dead. Is dead? Like Steve also was now? Steve would eventually get the hang of the terminology. “They were after something that my father had stolen from some other pirates. They ransacked the village and were threatening to do worse if “the last living Rogerses” didn’t make themselves known, so…” 

“You volunteered yourself,” Bucky completed, frowning harder as his steel eyes went cold with anger. “Steve…” 

“There was nothing else I could do, or that anyone could do!” Steve interrupted him, finally getting a tiny bit angry, which wasn’t exactly what he wanted but was close enough. “Do you think I could’ve let them do anything to anyone there? Your entire family was there! I just told them I knew the island where my father buried it and they took me with them.” 

Bucky got up from the bed and started pacing the cabin which didn’t have a lot of space to pace upon, so he ended up just looking like a caged-in animal in distress. “Well, it’s a good thing that storm sank their ship like a rock because you would have been fucked if they realized you didn't have it and didn’t know where it was.” 

“I know that,” Steve shrugged when Bucky stopped to glare at him. “I would’ve figured something out.” 

“Like what?” Steve hesitated and Bucky went back to pacing. “You were so fucking lucky I had it and also that I was near you.” 

Steve didn’t understand Bucky for a few seconds and then he almost screamed, “What?!” 

Bucky shushed him but Steve was already getting out of the bed to go pinch Bucky, or maybe punch him, he didn’t know but he would figure it out when he was within touching distance. Bucky just sidestepped him and took something out of his pocket, which made Steve stop dead in his tracks. 

It looked like just a wooden box until Bucky opened it and Steve gave a step closer to observe the beautifully intricate designs of the wind rose, the carvings on the wood, the golden details that the compass had on its surface to appoint the cardinal directions and embellish them. 

It was gorgeous and Steve had to simply observe its beauty for a while, entranced. What he thought was peculiar though was the fact that the needle did not point North—instead, it was most certainly dead-on pointing back at Steve. 

“That’s…” Steve said and then gave one step to the left. The needle adjusted its position slightly, and Steve frowned at it. “...weird.” 

“I guess that’s going to be pretty much useless for me to navigate now,” Bucky told him, and he seemed to have worked enough of his frustration with Steve since he was smiling a little. 

“It already looks useless. It doesn’t seem to know where the North is.” 

“That’s because it wasn’t made to point North,” Bucky was still smiling a little, but Steve now could feel that he was laughing at Steve, which just wasn’t nice. Bucky was lucky that the compass was a little more important to be observed right then. “Your mom must have told you this story, at least once. You probably just forgot about it, since you never really cared for the more magical ones. Long story short is, this compass was made to point to what you desire the most.” 

With a jolt, Steve realized that his mother had indeed told him a story similar to that. However, little Steve wanted to know more about the adventure that the people who used the compass had—what they were looking for? Who had they saved along the way?—leaving Steve to always sweep aside whatever magical objects were used to achieve greatness in his mother’s stories. They weren’t realistic, therefore not something Steve should remember. Little Steve knew that those objects couldn’t exist, so waiting to rely on them was… silly, at least in Steve’s child’s mind. 

With another more frustrating jolt, Steve realized that he would probably benefit from reviewing a lot of the stories he had saved in his mind. For his possible future reference. 

Right at that moment, though… Steve would’ve liked to ask his mom how Steve’s father had acquired the compass and what he’d used it for since Steve didn’t remember one single story where this compass had been mentioned involving his father. 

How long did his father have it? Why did he leave it behind with Steve’s mom? 

Could Steve’s father still be alive? His body had never been found, just like Bucky. 

“Wait, hold on,” Steve stopped staring at the compass as he wondered if it would take him to where his father could be because he had to look at Bucky after he realized what Bucky had said. “Why would it be useless for you now?” 

Bucky gave him an exasperated look. “It points to what my heart wants the most, Steve.” 

“Yeah, so?” Steve said and Bucky’s expression just grew more exasperated at him, but also… fond. Steve tried his best not to fidget under it. All the things that Bucky and Steve could’ve been to each other if they had more time than what they got, all the things that they had left trapped in shared gazes, instead of shared confessions. It didn’t hurt right now anymore, but Steve still remembered not wanting to think about how much he wanted Bucky and didn’t feel like he could talk about it with anyone but Buc— 

Oh. 

“Oh,” Steve said and looked down at the compass completely differently. When he went back to Bucky’s face, he could see the exasperation almost dripping away as Bucky looked softly back at him, soft enough that Steve almost wanted to turn his back so he didn’t have to show his own reaction to Bucky’s fondness. 

But then again, if what Bucky was implying was what Steve was comprehending... “I guess you can’t use it to find your way to someone if they happened to be…” 

“In front of the compass,” Bucky finished for him, and his gaze suddenly stopped looking right back at Steve’s eyes and wandered to the side a bit. It took Steve an embarrassingly long time to understand Bucky was staring at his red ears, which could only get redder at the attention. “Yes, it becomes a bit obsolete in that situation.” 

“There’s nothing else that you want then?” Steve said and sounded skeptical, even though his heart was beating much faster than what was advisable. 

Bucky shrugged but didn’t reply. 

“Oh my, whatever will we do now?” Steve murmured and didn’t jump when Bucky snapped the little box closed and put the compass back into his pocket. Steve opened his mouth to say—who knew what, his brain was working solely on flailing around—but Bucky’s hand ended up on Steve’s jaw, more than enough to shut Steve up. 

Then it slid to the back of Steve’s neck. 

Steve felt it was unfair that Bucky could look like that in… any circumstances, but especially when Steve was trying to be witty. 

“Whatever you want to do,” Bucky said. 

Steve wanted to tell Bucky about the pirates that had come aboard this boat and that it might be dangerous to keep them around if Bucky actually had the compass. Steve hoped that the ship would turn them into completely non-sentient objects. 

Additionally, Steve wanted to tell Bucky that he should be careful with what he implied, for they were both two different bodies of water meeting up for the first time, currents _too strong_ to be mingled carelessly like that. However, any thoughts wasted on pirates or the turmoil of his feelings were immediately erased from his mind when Bucky took a tiny step forward. Steve didn’t even know what he had been thinking about because he was debating if it would be embarrassing to go onto his tippy-toes so he could be closer to— 

Steve could almost feel his brain sloshing away into nothingness over the overwhelming force of Bucky’s… _everything_. “What if I want us to have the kind of stories that my mom would tell us?” 

Bucky smiled. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m the captain of this ship and can take you wherever we need to find them.” 

“And could we write them down?” 

“Yes.” 

“And can I illustrate them?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you even have paper?” 

“No idea,” Bucky said and laughed at whatever Steve’s face was doing. “But I can find some for you.” 

Steve felt lighter than he’d ever been in his entire life. He took a deep breath and watched as Bucky kept all his attention on him and nothing else. Steve had lost a lot, but at least this he had been given back. Had gotten a second chance. 

“Sounds like a plan,” Steve said and smiled back at Bucky’s sappy look. 

Bucky’s lips tasted as saltier than the single tear Steve felt making its course down his face, but he wiped it away roughly and went back for a second taste. Two distinct oceans couldn’t mix, but they could feast upon each other’s vastness. 

Steve couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life diving in it. 

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  The next morning, Steve wakes up all Swole and the captain (it’s Pierce, we all know it’s Pierce right?) wakes up as the ship’s figurehead lol  
>   
> This was a riot to write! Can you believe my plans were for this to be 2k max??? I need to be better at estimating how much I’m gonna write lmao. Thank you so much for clicking and reading this, though! You’re the absolute best, I hope you eat a delicious cookie in the near future.  
>   
> A WARNING, IF YOU ARE ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHO CHECK THE WRITER’S PROFILE TO SEE IF THEY HAVE WRITTEN ANYTHING ELSE FOR THE FANDOM: don’t check my profile. It’s disappointing, I swear it is!  
>   
> my tumblr is [polzkadotz](http://polzkadotz.tumblr.com) if you want to ask something, criticize anonymously or just chat! My twitter is [polzka_dotz](http://twitter.com/polzka_dotz) if that’s what you prefer.  
> 


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